


Smooth Cuts

by ElwritesFanworks



Series: [♦/♠] Sex, Violence, and the Midnight Crew [2]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: 1940s slang, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Boss/Employee Relationship, Carapaces, Cruelty, Dubious Consent, Frenemies, Gore, Knifeplay, Love/Hate, M/M, Mutilation, Revenge, Role Reversal, Sadism, Sequel, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, autocannibalism, extreme masochism, extreme sadism, payback's a bitch, wound-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>***DUB CON*** VIOLENCE***<br/>A sequel to 'Sharp Points'</p><p>Slick gets his turn being in charge, and exacts bloody, smutty revenge on Droog for the loss of his teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so first of all, thanks for taking an interest in his requested sequel to Sharp Points. I was going to wait until the whole thing was written, but given that it's exams right now and I don't want to leave you hanging without a teaser, here's the first chapter.
> 
> Now for some housekeeping: **PLEASE READ**  
> This is a WIP. This means that there is more on the way. I am not 100% sure yet, but I may include a little autocannibalism, possibly, in a later chapter. Not of anything particularly important - just of the flesh chunks that get torn off with some of Droog's plating in this chapter. But if that squicks you, you should know it might be on the way. Also wound-fucking. Wound-fucking is gonna happen.
> 
> Second of all, I took some artistic liberties with the physiology of carapaces, and specifically how plating works and is attached. (I treated it sort of like huge scales.) Also I couldn't fucking remember the type of blade that's Slick's weapon of choice, so I gave him a switchblade. I don't know knives as well as I know guns, so I hope it seems believable. (Hopefully ALL OF THIS is believable - I'm new to writing knifeplay as it's not really my kink.)
> 
> As always, if you see typos/editing wierdness let me know. I'm unbeta-d and working primarily at 2 am on my writing, so there may be some stuff I don't catch.

* * *

_  
Droog blinked. "Next time?" He was letting it happen again?_

_"Next time," Slick elaborated, grinning toothlessly, "there will be knives, and I will be in charge."_

♠/♦

As unwelcome panic formed a knot in Diamonds Droog's throat, he reminded himself that he had gotten himself into this situation. If he hadn't crossed the line with Slick, (which he still couldn't bring himself to regret fully,) he wouldn't have had a debt to repay in the first place. And he wasn't some simpering coward - when he offered you his word, he kept his word.

 _Still,_ he reasoned, swallowing hard, _anyone would be... affected by this kind of thing._

He didn't feel prepared for it. It's not as if they'd really talked about it, after the fact. He figured Slick had gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, and then had changed his mind. Maybe it was intentional, on Slick's part - he waited just long enough so that Droog let his guard down, and that's when he cornered him in his room one night. Boxcars and Deuce were both in their rooms, asleep, and there was no one to bail him out of this fine mess, no matter how badly he was starting to wish for it.

The sound of a switchblade unsheathing startled him out of his thoughts. Spades was grinning daggers at him, twirling the knife between his fingers like it a toy, like it couldn't hurt, couldn't kill.

"You owe me," he said and Droog shivered at the sound of his metal teeth clacking off each other. It had been months he'd been like that, and still, it sounded wrong. It had been months and it still made heat pool in his groin, still took him back to the memory of that sloppy, toothless warmth sucking him dry.

"I know," he snarled back venemously. Just because he was going to lose didn't mean he shouldn't go down fighting. Slick's nightmarish grin widened and he dragged the tip of the knife down the front of Droog's heaving chest. Heaving... when had he started panting like that? He was puffing out air like some stray bitch in heat, his eyes wide and rolling in his head. This was unacceptable; Droog made constant efforts to keep his weaker emotions under wraps. Showing fear was not on his agenda. But he'd seen Slick use those knives of his before, seen him kill with them, and his boss was never on the right side of stable, not completely. Comrades or not, letting Slick at you with a knife was like sticking dynamite in your mouth and lighting the fuse.

"I'm gonna show you my stabs, Diamonds," Slick whispered in a sing-song voice, and it shouldn't have sounded so filthy, but it did, the worlds oozing like crude oil out of that mutilated mouth. Slick, who'd been hard since he'd arrived, ground his pelvis down roughly, provoking a grunt of pain from his subordinate, chuckling when the tip of his blade caught on the top button of Droog's shirt. Droog, reacting on instinct, attempted to dodge the weapon, and grunted in surprise when Slick stabbed him shallowly in the side.

"You stabbed me," he hissed before he had the sense to clam up. His voice was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and he felt about as opaque as a glass of pure spring water. For one, dangerous moment, the smile faltered on Slick's face, giving way to something more dangerous: anger.

"Do NOT fuckin' toy with me. You OWE me, Droog."

Droog inhaled sharply. The tip of the knife was still in his side, just barely beneath the surface, but nevertheless present. The penetration felt unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It wasn't that it hurt more than any other flesh wound; it just felt... Droog wasn't sure how to say it without sounding pathetic. Violation was the word that sprang to mind first, and he buried it deep.

"Fine. Just be quick about it," he snarled at last, and turned his eyes upwards to stare at the cieling. He winced as he felt the blade withdraw from his pierced flesh, and shivered when he felt a finger trace the new hole.

"Consider this a warning," Spades hissed, and proceeded to divest Droog of his clothes. Slick was careless about it, rough in his movements, and normally Droog would have chastised him - he liked his clothes to survive his intimate encounters whenever possible - but he couldn't speak. His tongue felt like a stone, heavy and immovable in his mouth. He wondered if it was possible to choke on your own tongue and the thought made him swallow instinctively against the imaginary blockage.

Slick sat back Droog's legs and returned with the blade, tracing a faint line along the center of his subordinate's chest. He paused here and there when Droog winced, focusing his attentions on the sensitive spots with all the precision of a surgeon. When Droog felt the tip of the blade slip under one of the abdominal plates of his carapace, a shiver of fear ran up his spine. Slick manouevered the knife to and fro, pushing up against the underside of his plating. Then, without warning, he pried a section of it clean off.

Droog's nerves screamed loud notes of cacophonous torture - it was a sharp, unnatural feeling. He went into shock almost immdiately, unable to comprehend the degree of pain he was in. He stared down at himself, disgusted and fascinated. He had never seen his skin before, not like this. Chunks of it had torn off with the plating, leaving behind trenches of reds and pinks, but there were still patches of his hide that were intact - licorice black, smooth, tender flesh that cooled in the still air. Droog turned his eyes back up to Slick only to find him licking the underside of the discarded plating, blood staining his lips. The sight of those knife-teeth and that red fluid running down his chin reminded Droog strongly of their first encounter. To his discomfort and slight revulsion, he began to harden, his shaft trapped awkwardly by Slick's body draped heavily over his own.

Slick, misinterpreting the origins of the arousal, drew the tip of his blade along the freshly exposed skin, which parted like butter on a warm day. Bright red blood welled up along the new line, and Slick, setting the piece of Droog's plating aside, bent his head to kiss the folds of skin, as though the wound were a mouth. He worked his lips against the cut and Droog shuddered when he felt his boss's tongue slip into the hot cavity of his injury, wriggling like an enlarged maggot, tasting his insides, mapping the contours of his inner tissues.

Grinning against the makeshift orifice, Slick slipped his fingers into the hole he'd made earlier, in Droog's side, fingering it lazily, stretching the skin and smoothing blood over it, all while his lips smacked and slurped obscenely against Droog's belly. It was a bizarre sort of tableau of hedonistic indulgence, gratuitous violence, and pornographic conduct.

 _I should be put off by this,_ the second-in-command considered, and winced as Slick shifted his weight slightly, taking his pressure off Droog's hips. He rolled his newly freed lower half up against Slick's thigh and growled at the friction. Pain aside, he was hard enough to truly do justice to the monicker 'Diamonds.' From the way Slick's deadly grin kept spreading wider than a loose broad's gams, he was glad of it, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for: autocannibalism and wound-fucking  
> as always, it is almost 2 AM and i'm working without a beta or a decent spell-check, so please let me know if you see any typos. thanks.
> 
> (random side note: would you believe I actually have a fear of blood IRL? well, it's true, lol.)

* * *

Just as the fingers probing the shallow stab wound were growing too painful to ignore, they fell still. Slick's digits withdrew with a squelch and he brought them to Droog's lips, who stared at them, frowning.

"Suck 'em," came Slick's garbled command, his mouth still occupied with french-kissing the slash in Droog's abdomen. Droog rolled his eyes and parted his lips reluctantly - he didn't get off on his own blood the way he did with the blood of his bedfellows.

The metallic tang was as disinteresting as Droog had expected it to be. He wished Slick would shift over so he could get some better friction on his aching length, but Slick seemed fully fixated on eating out his wound like some gruesome parody of cunnilingus. Fed up, Droog sucked hard on the fingers in his mouth and was rewarded with Slick pulling off his wound with suprise before moaning lewd and long with all the skill of a pricey, A-grade hooker.

"Yeah, that's it," he smirked, palming Droog's organ roughly. Droog grunted and bucked his hips, pleased to finally be getting some proper attention, only to have Slick pull away again.

"Don't tease," he growled, and Slick pressed the tip of his knife under another plate on his abdomen.

"This isn't about you," his boss retorted cruelly, and made a shallow cut under the plating, which wasn't deep, but which stung and bled profusely. Droog swore at him and Slick set his knife aside, returning to pry off more of his carapace with his bare hands. He swallowed Droog's yell with a pointy kiss, biting and cutting alll that he could with his deadly teeth. When his lungs started to burn, he pulled back and surveyed the aftermath of his work.

Droog was breathing in great heaving gasps, his eyes wide and damp with traitorous tears, his mouth and chin slick with blood and spit, his chest a mess of black and red and pink. "Beautiful," Slick murmured under his breath with an almost reverent tone. He traced his bloodied fingertips down the twitching muscles and raw flesh of Droog's abdomen so gently it seemed impossible that he had been the one to inflict those very wounds.

"Stop fucking with my plates," Droog snapped when the initial pain began to plateau and numb. "They'll scar."

"You didn't seem so concerned with damages when you was rippin' my teeth out," Slick responded.

"Teeth are replaceable - this is my whole chest - mmph!" Droog glared at Slick, his mouth shut by one of his boss's hands.

"Stop whining," Slick groused, and sat like that a moment, pondering. "I don't have a gag with me," he said aloud and Droog thought 'don't you DARE use my tie' as hard as he could. Slick's eyes lingered on it where it lay, discarded, on the floor for a minute, but then they slid to the discarded plating that sat, bloody and cooling, on the matress. A frightening, gleeful look appeared on Slick's face as he picked up one of the plates and held it up to Droog's face. He removed his hand and when Droog opened his mouth to protest, slid it into his mouth.

Droog shuddered at the implication of being gagged with his own mutilated bodypart. Slick had managed to wedge it in behind his teeth and it was imposible to spit out. If he had free hands, he'd use them to remove it, but Slick had them grabbed, hoisted over to the headboard, and tied there with his belt before Droog had a chance to escape. Droog swallowed against the makeshift gag. This was different, and not in a good way. Before he'd been nervous, but he'd also been mad. He was able to retaliate, and gave back as good as he got. Now he was completely at Slick's mercy, and to make matter's worse, he was starting to feel a bit faint from blood loss. Panic took root in the taller member of the Midnight Crew, and as Slick shimmied out of his pants and drawers, Droog racked his brain for a plan.

He was interupted by the sound of Slick muttering to himself as he jerked himself slowly, his eyes raking over Droog's chest. "I'm gonna fuck you," he said and Droog grimaced around the gag - he wasn't one to take it up the back door from the likes of Spades Slick. But something was wrong - Slick wasn't moving lower - if anything, he was inching up. It took a moment for Droog to put two and two together and have it make four, and by that point, the head of Slick's organ was rubbing against the large gash on his stomach. Droog roared with discomfort, straining against his bonds, as Slick eased slowly into his abdomen. He was going to die - there was no doubt about that. He would die and be found covered in Slick's cum, tied to the headboard like something out of a trashy tabloid magazine. This was not the sort of dignified send-off he merited.

Slick's muttering had turned softer and now he was stroking the side of Droog's face as he rocked his hips slightly into the wound. "I know my craft," he murmured, "I know all about how to miss all the stuff inside that doesn't survive a puncturing. You really think I'd kill you, Droog?"

Despite being bound and mostly immobile, Droog managed to shrug. "I'd never do that, Diamonds. Cut a fella some slack, here."

As if to prove his benevolence, Slick's hand returned to palming at Droog's piece, coaxing it back to full hardness. His other hand moved up to Droog's face and withdrew the gag, shaking off a glob of Droog's spit with a scowl.

"You're drooling like a hound dog," he chastised, but his voice was breathy and there was no real malice in his tone.

"Yeah, well. I'm also bleeding out. Stop the fucking presses," Droog groaned, aroused in spite of himself.

"You'll be fine."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We shall see. All I know is I'd be happier if I had something to eat."

Slick raised an eyebrow. "Eat? Shit, Diamonds, can't you take it one vice at a time? If you let me come on your face I'll take you to one of them upscale restaurants with napkins folded up to look like birds."

"As tempting as it is to watch you make an ass of yourself in a public setting, I really do need something to eat or I'm going to pass out," Droog said flatly. "Unless that's your plan, and you just want to brutalize my unconcious body, in which case, please, carry on."

"Yeah, yeah, shaddup," Slick muttered, looking around. His eyes settled again on the discarded plating, and on the tender globs of flesh that clung to it. He slowed his hips and reached over, prying a bit of the meat free and holding it to Droog's lips.

"You have to be kidding me," Droog stated.

"Do you want to wait for me to make you a fucking sandwich? Just eat it, it's all part of you anyway." Droog swore but opened his lips enough for Slick to push the tissue through. Droog chewed it tentitavely, rolling it around in his mouth.

"What's it taste like?" Slick asked, genuinely curious. Droog swallowed.

"Like raw meat, I guess." Slick opened his mouth to reply, but cut himself off, his eyes widening in surprise. He glanced at the length in his hand, and back at Droog's slightly dazed expression and snorted.

"You got harder."

"It's the bloodloss."

"Fuck the bloodloss - Droog, you got fucking harder. You ATE PART OF YOUR STOMACH AND YOU GOT HARDER."

With anyone else, those words would be spoken with fear and horror, but when Slick said them, they were tinged with a sort of awe-inspired respect.

"I thought the tooth thing was sick," he grinned, yanking hard on the organ in his palm. Droog hissed and twitched and scowled at him.

"It's not like I've done this before - how the fuck was I supposed to know!" he snapped, and Slick laughed, his hips picking up their old pace. He reached over and pried off another piece of gooey tissue, and popped it into Droog's waiting mouth. Droog didn't bother hiding his enjoyment this time. So what if he did like it? It's not like he was eating other people, and besides, these were... special circumstances.

Slick's hips were jerking roughly in and out of the torn hole in Droog's belly. He picked up his discarded knife and cut a fresh cube of meat directly from Droog's chest, mashing it against Droog's lips and teeth.

"So do you - ah - want that free... dinner?" he panted, and Droog nodded. He was in over his head already - he might as well get an eight-course meal for his trouble. Slick shuffled forward, fisting his blood-soaked piece, and aimed for Droog's face. It took two or three pulls on his organ and he was dousing white-hot jizz all over his subordinate's face. Once the high of orgasm wore off a bit, Slick rolled over and off of Droog, untied his hands, and reached down to finish him with a few choice pulls.

As the taller male recovered, Slick reached for Droog's discarded jacket and swiped two cigarettes from his mother-of-pearl inlayed case. He felt around in the pocket for a light, produced a match (which he struck on the edge of Droog's bedside table, which was rude, even for Slick) and lit them both, before passing one off.

Droog barely had the energy to smoke so he simply lay there, the cigarette loosely clasped between his teeth, until some ash fell off and hit him in the cheek, which stung.

"As great as this post-coital smoke is, I think I need to go to the hospital," he wheezed as he sat up slightly, leaning back on his elbows. Slick nodded.

"Alright, I'll get some towels and clean us up first. Can't be seen on the streets like this." Slick rose from the bed and padded to the doorway, giving Droog an eyeful of bare ass. He paused by the door and looked over his shoulder.

"Don't pass out before you butt out - if the bed catches fire I'm not saving you."

Droog recognized the unspoken 'thanks' buried in the caustic commentary, and he huffed in response. Slick took this to mean that things were back to normal... or to however close to normal you could get, when you were dealing with the Midnight Crew. Left alone in the bedroom, Droog tried to make sense of his circumstances. Was this going to be a regular thing? He wasn't sure his body could take it, but he couldn't deny that he'd got off and enjoyed himself. Sifting through mixed feelings, he stared down at the mess of his chest, and wondered if he'd ever regret the increasingly depraved unions he shared with his boss.

Somehow, he didn't think he would.


End file.
